Sheer Madness
by kryss-delrhei
Summary: COMPLETE. SeymourTidus. One-Shot. Tidus finds himself a helpless puppet in the grasp of Seymour, a Maester of Yevon. Warning: Dub-Con.


******Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy X nor the characters, just borrowing them from Square-Enix for a little while.

**Title:** Sheer Madness  
**Author:** Kryss Del'Rhei  
**Fandom:** Final Fantasy X  
**Pairing:** Seymour/Tidus  
**Rating:** M  
**Warning:** Dub-Con  
**Summary:** Tidus finds himself a helpless puppet in the grasp of Seymour, a Maester of Yevon.

**Author's Note:** This is a repost of what was taken down by myself during May 2012, after I wanted to comb through my work and correct or revise. I ended up taking everything down from FanFiction, this being one of my poor victims.

Originally posted at FFN on September 18, 2008.

* * *

His hands. Oh, it's his hands. Running the way they do, up and down the sides of my body. The skin those fingers glide over, raise with goose flesh, sending shivers up my spine. My breath is already uneven, coming out in small puffs of steam, a light sheen of perspiration covering my skin. My toes curl as I raise my arms over my head in obedience to his lightly mumbled words.

His voice is captivating. Sinister.

And I wonder what holds me here. Tied to him. Spellbound and captured.

"You thought so wrong about my intentions," he says, dipping down to flicker the tip of his tongue near my navel. The heat shoots high, curdling my skin, leaving it fiery to the touch and I find myself panting, begging, whimpering for him.

I try to bite my lip and stop the nonsense. He notices from the corner of his eye, his gaze narrowed on me, piercing through me with those unholy irises that make my heart pound more in expectancy.

I quiver beneath him, legs spread, arms up.

He hovers, greedy and hungry, and then I'm aching, watching that look so mesmerizing in the way his eyes sparkles. So sinister. He infects me, contorts my thoughts. All I can think about is the way his body is so perfect. So provocatively perfect in all its curves and lean muscles.

He corrupts everything about me. Shouldn't I be thinking this way about her? The one I thought he had an interest for? What had happened when she hadn't been his objective, and instead it had been me? I couldn't understand any of it.

A dirty blond lock of hair plasters itself to my forehead. I'm sticky with sweat. I try to discreetly blow the hair from my forehead, but to no avail. He spots me, a thin-lipped grin tipping his lips upward as his hands moved further down on my body. My objective vanishes with a lavish moan that spills from my mouth as his palms work me, the claws running along the tenderness of my erection.

This couldn't be. I couldn't be... my body couldn't react like this... what was this?

All of this was madness! All of it! The reactions my body was giving him, fueling him, even if I hadn't reacted to his touch.

I blame it on blitzball. It was the daily trainings with Wakka that kept me fit, kept my body sensitive. Wakka was rough with the ball, a lot worse that one of the Aurochs. One of his claw-tipped fingers brushed a healing discoloration along my thigh, I hissed in pain, yet moaned in pleasure as his mouth descended on me.

Above my head, I gripped the wall as best as I could. No, it wasn't blitzball. It was Sin. All Sin's fault that I was here in Spira, enjoying these torturous feelings that twisted my stomach, melting with the hotness of his mouth surrounding my length. Sin was the cause of all this!

His teeth grazed along the skin and I arched in reaction, moaning through a clenched jaw, my nails digging into the wall.

Painful, yet so deliciously all consuming.

The room was cold, but I couldn't feel the low temperature anymore than I had when he'd gotten close to me. His overwhelming icy heat spurred my own and I was burning, thrusting my hips as much as he'd allowed me with his steel grip.

What would they say if they heard me? They were in the dinning hall. Could they hear me now? Was it possible to hear me with my jaw almost wired shut?

Oh, my bones ached. I ached. To the core.

My nerves were alive. Why couldn't I comprehend any of this madness?

This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

I arched and somehow in my escape into thought, he'd crawled up my body, murmuring nothings and somethings that I wasn't comprehending. I was out of breath, his mouth moving with mine. Moving with mine? What?

"Nn," the sound slipped out and my hands come to rest on his shoulders. My muscles ache from being in that position, but it's a reward as I pull him closer, letting him devour me. That's what he's doing? Devouring me. Taking my soul. Making me do things that I'm not suppose to do.

Is this what a Guado does?

He's gripping my hips and I'm starting to panic. I try to regress into my thoughts, block it out... but... it felt so good...

What am I saying?

I moan again, louder. His fingers are working me with an almost painful hold on my sensitive erection. It's uncomfortable, yet he hasn't let up. His lips keep my mouth occupied and it isn't until now that I realize that I'm letting myself be occupied with him. His tongue dives into my mouth. I hear him moan.

It startles me.

My body throbs with the electricity of his breathless sound. I'm letting go, arching, opening myself. What is it about this... that I find so... erotic? When had I started to let him control me?

In truth, it wasn't control. I wasn't doing it myself, but then I couldn't just say that to myself. Could I?

His skin is hot to the touch and I feel him, getting ready, positioning himself. And I'm setting myself. I'm waiting for him. Strangely, wanting him. I don't think that it's just my body anymore.

He's sliding into me, rough, hard, quick, a one thrust deal. My body tears and stretches and the pain is unbearable.

And I'm the one screaming, both in agony and in rightful pleasure, screaming out words of _yes_, _now_, _harder_, as he moves, back and forth, in and out. I can't describe the mixture of the feelings that wash over me, why I taste salt in my mouth as I toss my head back and scream for him. At him. To him. His name, encouragements.

It's not heavenly, but my body thinks so.

I'm clinging to him now and then we're moving. I don't really notice, until he's the one on his back and I'm at a right angle, my head light from the restriction of blood. I realize what he wants me to do. What he wants me to willingly give him.

Without hesitation, my thoughts and movements all giving themselves over to the uncontrollable lust that fills my veins as I bow over him, hands on his shoulders, and I move.

I rock.

He thrusts.

I glide.

He moans.

I bounce.

He arches.

The pace is building and I'm begging him for release. He's begging me with the way he grabs me under the arms and helps me lift myself up, before I'm slamming myself down on his length, impaling myself on his member, hearing the slap of skin on skin echo through the room. It's so good.

"Ha-ah, say it..." he growls, pounding up into me as I'm moaning, shivering all over from the strain, the exertion. I shake my head, he claws at my skin atop my thighs, cutting into the discoloration from blitzball training days ago. I scream, yet again with eagerness and hatred.

My movements speed up and I'm taking him into my body, milking him hard, and enjoying every minute. That's when I find myself screaming for him, saying it—like the good puppet I am.

"Maester..." I chicken out.

"Scream it," he demands.

What will they say?

If I can't blame any of this on Sin or my father, then it's sheer madness. It has to be. It can't be anything else. Not when I'm this mad in the skull to be doing these kinds of things and enjoying them. Madness, is all that it was. Knowing that lifts a huge burden that I hadn't known had been on my shoulders.

And now that it's gone...

I feel my body tense, my muscles aching, my head pounding as I rode him, screaming out, "Maester Seymour!" while I felt my orgasm crashing down on me like waves of the tide, washing over me as I panted and moaned. I felt tired. I felt violated. I felt so many things.

But the worst, came to me like a slap to the face as he pulled free from body, pushing me aside, brushing his cerulean hair from his face as he grabbed for his robes, "You'll get better with time."

The heat from our encounter drifted and I was replaced with the humiliating, cold air from before. And I wondered why it was so cold in Guadosalam. With a cringe, I closed my eyes, letting the angry tears fall and I felt the throbbing shame burn the inside of my legs where the pearlescent liquid covers me. I guess now I knew why the temperature was so low in this blasted tree.


End file.
